


from now on i want you to be happy

by okropnyromans



Series: of what has fallen (and what will rise again) [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kinda, Lowercase, Not Beta Read, Stabbing, Traitor Wilbur, i wrote this in two sitting at 2 am so please dont kill me, l'manburg goes boom, minecraft respawns mechanics, sleepybois are a family, wilbur dies but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27616964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okropnyromans/pseuds/okropnyromans
Summary: pressing the button was supposed to end everything. he's wanted it since he can remember.why is it so hard, then?or: the moments before l'manburg's doom, shared between a father and a son.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Series: of what has fallen (and what will rise again) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029387
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	from now on i want you to be happy

maybe it’s something in the way phil’s voice suddenly rings in his ears, a piercing yet so simple question of “what are you doing, wilbur?”, that makes him hesitate. or maybe it’s something in the soft light coming from the outside of his hideout that seems to fall on phil so perfectly, making him look like some sort of a savior who’s going to- to stop the upcoming destruction? to make wilbur change his mind? 

...or maybe it’s something about the person standing in front of him being his dad, whose face graces the look of hesitance that tries too hard to be sternness, the one wilbur still remembers from his childhood, back when things between him and his brothers were fragile and phil had to make his moves as if he were walking on scattered around glass shards, trying to maintain last bits of any composure left in their house. the face he wore when he was trying to disable a ticking bomb. one wilbur knows very well. 

there’s something in the familiarity of it that makes wilbur’s hand stop at where it’s hovering over the button that’s waiting to be pressed, to start a chain of inevitable havoc wrecked upon the lands of wilbur’s symphony. it’s a feeling he’s already felt before - he’d stood in front of the very same button plenty of times, yet never being confident enough to actually press it without any irrelevant setbacks. but this time he feels like he can do it, because it’s… it’s over, right? they won their so-called independence and they think they can have a happily ever after now but wilbur has an ace in the sleeve, he has technoblade on his side, the side of revolution and anarchy. 

but he’s still hesitating, as it seems, and it’s humiliating to admit even to himself.

so he opts to focus on the new threat to his great plan. phil, ever the fatherly phil, whose eyes show a distraught he hasn’t seen in a long time. 

“in l’manburg,” phil arches a brow at him because of course he already knows wilbur was lying, he can see right through them all, can’t he?

“this- this is-” he stumbles over his words for a moment, more from slowly trickling irritation than being caught in his lie. “okay, i will admit…” he puts his hands up in mock surrender, breaking his gaze from phil to look around. his eyes fall on the button and once again he feels something break inside of him.

“do you know what this button is?” he asks, a seemingly innocent question. his lips unintentionally lift up in the barest of smiles, one that’s still all crooked edges, one that just screams danger, though, and maybe phil can tell what’s about to happen, as his shoulders tense and he takes a small cautious step towards wilbur. 

“yeah. i do.” and how could he not? tommy probably told him everything already, the little snitch ever. 

“have you heard the song on the walls before, then? have you?” wilbur abruptly outstretches his arms, standing proud on the background of the lyrics that seem to darkly loom over him. phil doesn’t respond, taking in everything around him instead, every word scribbled in wilbur’s both agony and euphoria. “what do you think? i was just saying, i made this big point, here- see? look, this one, and- and there was a special place- there was- but it’s not... there anymore, you know? it’s gone.”

there’s so much emotion in phil’s eyes, right then, when he realizes what exactly this is all about. and wilbur almost looks away because the sullen frown betrays what feels like pity and he’s never been one to be pitied. especially not now. 

“it is there, wil. we both know it. but you just want to-”

“i am always so close to pressing this button, phil!” he snaps. his fingers grip his hair as hard as they can and he turns his gaze to one of the writings, one that says well, this place is real. he focuses all his attention on the inaccuracy of the song he made himself, because if he has to see phil’s expression one more time or even hear the gentleness in his voice wilbur definitely doesn’t deserve, he might just break down. “i’ve been here seven or eight times already and i could never- i couldn’t do it! seven or eight times and every damn time i just-!"

“but you still want to blow it all up.” it’s not a question. phil knows him too well. the answer was obvious long, long ago. 

“yeah, i do. i think- i do.” his voice break a little, but he knows that the certainty he’s feeling is the most he can wish for. 

wilbur can still feel another pieces of his broken heart falling apart, and he briefly thinks the more the better. it’s so, so easy to distance yourself, once the mental barrier is gone. 

“you’ve fought so hard to get this land back, so hard, wil. and you’re just going to throw it all away?” his dad’s voice is still stern yet gentle, the tone of someone who’s hushing a scared kid rather than their crazed child. there’s a hint of desperation beginning to trickle in, though, and wilbur isn’t sure what to make of it. “it’s not gone forever. you still have the chance.”

the only thing he can do is laugh bitterly, because does he? are there really any chances left for him? it’s all or nothing and the time for takebacks is long past due. “maybe, maybe not. i don’t even know if this button works anymore. i could press it and it could- it could not work, phil.”

“are you sure you want to take that risk?” 

there’s so much heaving on wil’s chest. so many words that should never be said, and now never will. this whole situation has been stretching on for way too long. he’s so tired. 

“there was a saying by a traitor, once a part of l'manburg. the traitor, eret, he had a saying,” he throws one last glance at phil’s expression of pure horror over his shoulder before snatching a hand up to the button. “phil…”

“it was never meant to be.” 

in that second it goes like this: the base is filled with this oh so beautiful hiss of tnt going off. phil’s fingers grab around wilbur’s arm, one step too late. people yelling outside at the podium continue fighting amongst each other, blissfully unaware of what’s coming. 

and then it happens. multitude of explosions all at once. pieces of rocks being blown in every direction. houses falling apart where they stand. 

dust and gravel prickle at wilbur’s eyes but he doesn’t have it in him to cover them. just as there was every emotion possible coursing through him a minute prior, now all that’s left is an aching sense of emptiness, one that was supposed to be satisfaction and victory. so what went wrong?

it’s numb. it has been for a long time now.

“my l'manburg! my unfinished symphony, forever unfinished!” he cries out. his hands itch for something while he turns to look at phil, the older man standing in shock a few feet behind him. 

“oh my god…” his dad sounds so genuinely taken aback, as if he thought wilbur would still have a change of heart and give up all he’s fighting for. he’s had enough of losing fights and waiting for an opportunity.

“if i can't have l'manburg, no one can!”

but it doesn’t end there. after the dust settles he sees the damage that’s been done and he takes it all in. waters pouring down into the giant hole embossed in the ground, the entire podium ripped to shreds and scattered around.

from the other side of a crater he sees tommy staring at him. dear tommy, who naively thought he could be president until the very end, now scrambling to put himself together, to show everyone how tough and reliable he is. 

“phil.”

his dad’s head snaps to him in an instant, but there’s no hopefulness in his face anymore, only pain- pain that, as wilbur realizes, he doesn’t want to see coming from the very person who gave him so, so much, and all he could give in return was this whole mess.

how ungrateful.

“kill me, please. kill me now. phil, please-” he shakily materializes a sword and holds it out. when had he become so distraught? his limbs feel jittery. something’s beginning to spill. it’s too late for it, now. “take this and stab me.”

is it possible for a person to show those amounts of hurt on their face that phil must be feeling right now? “what? no, wil, i can’t do that-”

“phil, kill me, kill me, kill me kill me kill me, please, just do it, murder me, phil,” wilbur’s tone takes on more of a mocking tint as he chants, still smiling in the face of chaos.

“i won’t! i can’t kill you, wil!”

“of course you can! don’t you see?” wilbur points at the crowd gathering near tommy with a free hand, everyone looking a different kind of hostile. “they all want me dead! there’s nothing else you can do! just do it. i know you can.” 

“you’re my son, wilbur! i can’t-” phil’s voice is getting more and more choked up with each word. “no matter what you do, wil, i wouldn’t- i couldn’t-”

wilbur knows they’re not going to get to anything like this, so he does what’s left for him to do: walks up to phil on legs that feel asif they’re going to break any second now, forces his dad’s fingers apart and places the sword in his palm. then, with one last look at phil’s face stained with the beginnings of tears, wil throws his arms around him and hugs him like there’s no tomorrow. maybe because there isn’t one. not for him, at least. 

he scarcely registers phil returning the hug, squeezing him until he’s almost out of breath. a lone puff of air shudders at his ear, and one last time he repeats, “please.”

one of phil’s hands is holding the sword behind his back, the other one coming to cradle wil’s head. tears are streaming freely down the older man’s face, no sign of him trying to stop them anymore. 

something in wilbur breaks right then and there. his chest tightens and it’s suddenly so difficult to breathe he can only strengthen his hold on phil. His cheeks feel wet and he briefly wonders when had he begun crying. 

“i- i can’t- if i don’t die- they- everyone-,” he tries to say, choking out words as they come. phil lowers him to the ground as he continues to sob his heart out, quick and pained breaths coming only more and more quickly. he can feel phil crouching right next to him. familiar fingers are slowly running through his wild dusted hair. the sword is left laying next to them. 

wilbur’s voice already feels hoarse while he stammers whatever sentences form in his mouth. it’s pathetic, to be seen like this, when he was supposed to be so powerful and untouchable, the perfect villain of a perfect tale. not the sob-story that he’s turning out to be. 

coddled in his dad’s arms, just like he used to be years ago in their first home, isn’t the death he anticipated for himself. but here it comes, because he has no intention for coming out of this place alive. so he locks eyes with phil and puts as much sorrow in his gaze as he’s able to. there are no words left to say.

“okay,” phil whispers. it’s final; too late to turn back. “we’ll work it out, wil. together. you don’t have to- be gone forever. we can fix it.”

he doesn't believe it, really. but somewhere deep he hopes that it's true. maybe a part of him is scared, the part he’s been trying to stuff as deep into the backs of his mind as he could, the part that wants to tell phil he’s still not ready. “i miss our home,” he says instead, in a voice so weak phil almost misses it.

“yeah. me too. we’ll meet there again, okay? it’s a promise.”

phil’s eyes never once leave him, as if trying to take in the sight of his son for the last time before a tragedy happens.

wilbur doesn’t see phil taking the sword from the ground and pressing it against his skin. he doesn’t hear his dad’s mumbles of “i’m sorry”. all that’s there is an overwhelming feeling of freedom, knowing that, in a way, he got what he wanted. 

as the sword slides slowly into his abdomen, he slips into the calming feeling of closure, blissfully unaware of the pain convulsing through him. 

“beware of the blade,” he manages to say, seconds before his world is covered in darkness.

wilbur doesn’t wake up in l’manburg.

**Author's Note:**

> what is it?? me finishing my first work in over a year and publishing it??? maybe.
> 
> this might become a series but i dont know if i'll still have the motivation so who knows.
> 
> there's probably a lot of mistakes and my english is really bad so if u see anything wrong please feel free to tell me about it ! and also excuse my shitty writing in general. asking politely.
> 
> thank u for reading tho im very nervous about posting this and its embarrassing. goodbye


End file.
